He Drove Her To The Exam, Left Our Daughter In The Flood Chapter 06

He Drove Her To The Exam, Left Our Daughter In The Flood Chapter 06

My closet was cleared out, and Hope’s room was left with nothing but an empty desk.

On the desk lay a signed divorce agreement.

Next to it was a note:

“Mom and I have gone to East Liberty.”

Arthur stared at the note in shock.

Why East Liberty?

Why did they leave so cleanly, without a single extra word for him?

He stood there for a long time, clutching the note, then grabbed his keys and left.

He drove to find Hope’s high school counselor.

When Arthur found the counselor, she was alone in the office organizing end-of-year files.

“Hope Vance’s father?”

The counselor looked up, recognized him, and immediately became respectful.

“Your daughter is incredible. The only student in the whole school to get into St. Sterling on a

full ride.”

Arthur stood across from the desk, feeling as if he’d been pinned to the spot.

The counselor beamed with pride.

“The official package arrived at the school a few days ago. Her mother already took her to

East Liberty to start the orientation.”

“Simply remarkable. I’ve taught for twenty years and rarely seen a student of her caliber.”

Arthur’s lips began to tremble.

Full ride.

St. Sterling.

He remembered the things he’d said at the dinner table. “A state school is fine.”

“If you don’t want to go, just do a gap year.”

“If the ticket is ruined, it’s ruined. What does it matter.”

He remembered pointing his finger at Hope, yelling that she deserved to miss the test.

He remembered telling Hope to give that Golden Horseshoe luck charm to Madison because “you’re doing a gap year anyway, you won’t need it.”

Top of the city.

St. Sterling.

“Mr. Vance?” The counselor saw his face. “Are you all right?”

Arthur gripped the edge of the desk, his fingers shaking.

He opened his mouth, his voice sounding like it was being squeezed from his throat:

“How were her… relationships with the other students?”

The counselor’s expression changed.

She hesitated for a few seconds, then turned to her computer and pulled up a hallway

surveillance clip.

The footage showed the area outside the girls’ restroom.

Madison and three other girls had Hope cornered.

There was no sound, but the picture was clear.

Madison was pulling Hope’s hair, shoving her against the wall.

Hope’s head hit the tiles, but she didn’t fight back, nor did she cry.

From beginning to end, she didn’t make a sound.

“We’ve dealt with this Madison Brooks several times,” the counselor sighed.

“But her mother comes to the school and makes a scene every time to bury it. We asked

Hope if she wanted us to call her parents, but she said no-she said she could handle it

herself.”

Arthur stared at the screen, his entire body shaking.

He remembered a time Hope had a bruise on her neck.

He’d asked what happened, and Hope said she’d bumped it in gym class.

He’d just said “oh” and never followed up.

He remembered every time Clara went to confront Sienna, he’d stop her, saying kids will be

kids and telling her to be the bigger person.

He remembered the time Hope said at dinner that she didn’t want to sit with Madison, and

he’d slapped her in front of Sienna and her daughter, calling her petty and immature.

When the slap landed, Hope’s eyes had turned red, but she hadn’t shed a single tear.

From then on, she never complained to him again.

From then on, she became very quiet-no fussing, no crying, no acting spoiled.

She’d go home and lock herself in her room to study, her grades getting better and better,

until every teacher called her a genius.

Arthur left the school and sat in his car for a long time.

He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel.

In his contacts, Hope was still saved as “Little Hope” with a sun emoji. Hope had set that

when she was ten, and he had never changed it.

He pressed the call button.

The call went through.

No one spoke.

There was only the faint sound of wind on the other end.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say her name.

But his throat felt like it was blocked by something; not a single syllable would come out.

Very quickly.

The other side hung up.